


The Hell Between Us

by Catheria



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Asexual Catra (She-Ra), Blood and Violence, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Catra (She-Ra)-centric, Character Study, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lesbian Adora (She-Ra), Lesbian Catra (She-Ra), Mutual Pining, Past Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Self-Hatred, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Slow Burn, time skip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catheria/pseuds/Catheria
Summary: Catra cuts the bonds holding Adora to the pillar, heart beating in her ears so loudly she can barely think."Go," she says, voice devoid of emotion."Catra I-""I never want to see you again," she snarls, cutting Adora off. Catra throws the sword on the ground and it skids to Adora."Take your shitty sword with you."***************Or Catra stays in the Crimson Waste, and Adora runs into her gang years later.
Relationships: Adora & Bow & Glimmer (She-Ra), Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora & Huntara (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Catra & Double Trouble (She-Ra), Catra & Huntara (She-Ra), Catra & Scorpia (She-Ra)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 223





	1. All the Things She Said

Adora's hands are bound behind her and around a pillar. A single strand of her wheat blonde hair falls into her face. Her face is distorted with the strain of trying to fight her binds, and her eyes are filled with panic. Catra couldn't be happier.

"Oh yeah," she laughs, "How do you even know about this 'Grand Plan' of Hordak's?"

"Catra…" Adora starts hesitantly, "Shadow Weaver is in Brightmoon."

And Catra's entire world crashes around her.

"She left me..." she says, heart in her throat, "for you. All of this is _your fault_."

Catra stumbles forward to lean against the pillar, blood roaring in her ears and tears brimming in her eyes.

"Catra-"

"Shut up! _Shut the fuck up_!" she screams, digging her claws into the pillar. She wants Adora dead. Maybe it's just She-Ra she wants dead. Yes, that's it. She-Ra. Catra wants to feel her blood beneath her claws and see the light go out in her eyes. And she's close, oh so close. She has her sword in her hands. Catra looks at herself in the reflection of the sword.

_Nothing anybody ever_ _wanted_ , part of her whispers. Adora left her for the rebellion. Shadow Weaver left her for Adora. Some twisted part of her wants so _badly_ to be validated by Shadow Weaver. Catra doesn't know what Shadow Weaver is supposed to be to her. She's heard the word "mother" tossed around. But that doesn't feel right. "Mother" sounds like something capable of love. Shadow Weaver is- no, _was_ manipulative and cruel and abusive. The best word Catra can think of for her at the moment, in her haze of fury, is "handler." Another word she's heard thrown around in the Horde. Yes, that's what it is. "Handler" sounds more like the electrocutions she's suffered. More like the thousands of times she's been told she'll amount to nothing.

"Catra," Adora tries again, this time softer. Catra sees the tears in Adora's eyes that mirror her own. She can narrow them down to fear or desperation. She thinks she'll go with fear. It makes Catra feel a little more in control in the midst of her breakdown.

Catra wants to take Adora back to the Horde. To receive the admiration and respect she's always wanted. But she hesitates. Everything she's done for the Horde has landed her here. In exile. In a desert that Hordak thought would, without a doubt, kill her. Catra wonders if anything she could ever do would ever result in anything more than grudging tolerance.

In the Crimson Waste she's felt more in control of her life than she ever did in the Horde, even after she became Hordak's second in command. She's killed a gang leader, stolen his followers, and lounged in the chair of a First One in less than a day.

Her blood feels like it's boiling inside her veins. Catra has a decision to make. She can either stay here, in the only place where's she's felt genuinely happy since Adora left, or she can return to where she was imprisoned. Where she was tortured. Where she was suffocated.

She's made her choice.

Catra cuts the bonds holding Adora to the pillar, heart beating in her ears so loudly she can barely think.

"Go," she says, voice devoid of emotion.

"Catra I-"

"I never want to see you again," she snarls, cutting Adora off. Catra throws the sword on the ground and it skids to Adora.

"Take your shitty sword with you."

Adora stumbles to her feet, her icy blue eyes glazed with fear and overflowing with tears. She looks to Catra, stumbles for her sword, and then looks at Catra again.

"Th-thank you," she stutters. Something else brews in her eyes. Anger.

"Just... get the fuck out of here," Catra hisses, averting Adora's gaze.

Adora nods jerkily, more of her wheat blonde hair falling into her face and out of her ponytail. Then she takes of in a dead sprint towards the exit. Catra hopes that Scorpia doesn't see her, because she doesn't want to answer any questions.

And Catra is left to her thoughts. She can hear the muffled music from the main part of the ship, but other than that it's just the blood roaring in her ears and the heartbeat in her throat.

She leans her back against the pillar and lets herself slowly slide to the floor. Catra hugs her knees and all she can hear is her heart thumping at the same quick pace as the music.

* * *

**3 Years Later**

Adora walks through the desert, her hair beginning to come out of the braid she has draped over her shoulder. She holds the tracker pad Bow gave her as she trudges along through the dunes. Her sweat soaks through her shirt and makes whatever strands of hair that escape her braid stick to her skin.

She's supposed to meet Huntara at the bar, but she's been walking through the crimson landscape for half-an-hour longer than the estimated travel time. Adora's near certain the tracker pad is glitching when it dies. She takes the last swig of water from the canteen slung over her shoulder to wet her throat before she chucks the tracker pad to the ground. It promptly cracks in half over a rock.

The landscape looks identical on all sides, minus a few enormous skeletons and cacti decorating the dunes. Adora can't take the heat anymore, and tears off the jacket she's clung to for so many years to reveal a white tank top. She whips it to her left, and it sinks into quicksand. Adora wants to cry, but she's too angry. She's always hated the Crimson Waste for many reasons. First of all, it's an endless hellscape. Forget to check for quicksand? Dead. Bump into the local flora? Dead. Step onto a rock? Wrong, that's an enormous snake ready to swallow you whole. Secondly, there are gangs everywhere. And lastly, Adora has emotional baggage relating to the location.

She sighs loudly, nudging a rock to make sure it is, in fact, a rock before sitting down. She rolls up her pants to her knees, before taking another look at the iffy at best solution. Adora grabs her knife out of its sheath and slowly cuts the fabric up to her thighs off. She takes off her boots, shaking out the extra sand while she's at it, and the proceeds to remove the extra fabric. More hair falls into her face, and she curses loudly. Adora's beyond caring. She's lost in her least favorite place in Etheria, cutting her own pants off and sweating bullets. If some shitty gang wants to take her for ransom, she figures she'll at least be taken somewhere she knows.

Adora takes her extra hair tie and wraps her braid into a bun. She chucks the extra fabric into the same batch of quicksand as her jacket, sheaths her knife, and begins to put her boots back on.

Then she hears the yelling.

"Hey, over here is where I heard someone scream 'fuck'!" a familiar voice yells, and Adora repeats her previous mistake but much quieter.

There's a ridge to her right, but that's where the yelling is coming from. At all other angles there's nothing but flat desert. Adora has nowhere to run, so she resorts to flattening herself against the ridge. Adora tries to slow her breathing and ignore the sand in her boots, but it's no use. Kyle- not cadet Kyle, the goat-woman Catra had refused to address as anything else- jumps down from the ridge and right in front of Adora. _Dammit_.

"Look at this dipshit, guys!" Kyle yells, pointing at Adora and doubling over in laughter.

The rest of her gang jumps down from the ridge and completely surrounds Adora. She chokes at the sand they kicked up before Kyle dead-lifts her off her feet.

"Please, Kyle-" she's abruptly cut off by the goat-woman slamming a knife that wasn't in her hands seconds ago into the ridge and less than an inch from Adora's face. There's a warm trickle that runs down Adora's ear and she absently thinks, _Oh, I'm_ _bleeding._

"Call me that again and you'll find out if there's a life after death," she growls, her face so close to Adora's that Adora's eyes can't focus.

"What can I call you, then?" Adora asks without hesitation, delirious from dehydration.

"Lilith," she snarls before throwing Adora to the ground. Adora wants to stand up and fight, but it's been harder since she's lost. She's dehydrated. She doesn't have the sword.

So she lies there, defeated if only for now, before Lilith slings Adora over her back. As Adora begins to blackout, she hears Lilith say, "Boss is gonna be thrilled! I haven't seen that cat bastard happy in ages."

Adora's last thought before she slips into unconsciousness is, _Oh,_ _shit_.

* * *

When Adora wakes, it's like a mirror of her nightmares. She's back in Mara's ship, thrown onto the floor by Lilith with her arms bound behind her back.

"Hey, boss!" she calls out, voice echoing throughout the metal chamber, "We got something for ya!"

In the gloom two eyes snap open. One pale gold and the other sapphire. Adora's heart threatens to beat out of her chest and she feels like she might vomit. She has mixed feelings, to say the least, about their boss.

"Turn on the lights, for god's sake!" Catra hisses before Lilith's friend hits the switch to the left of the door. It creaks a bit thanks to the age of the ship but the lights turn on with a _clunk._

Adora wishes she could disappear. Adora wishes she could teleport like Glimmer, or whip out a gadget like Bow, but instead she's just Adora. 

Catra looks at her and her pupils turn to slits.

"Kyle, leave us alone for a while, will you?" she says evenly, though the undertone is riddled with threats.

"But-" Lilith is promptly cut off.

" _Leave_ ," Catra hisses, her claws shining in the pale lighting.

Lilith and the other two literally run out of the ship, leaving Catra and Adora alone.

Adora takes in Catra's change in wardrobe. Instead of the old orange jumpsuit and headpiece she now dons a maroon breast guard, the same leather jacket Adora last saw her in, whose sleeves go to her elbows, black fingerless gloves, and black ripped shorts. A whip and dagger are attached to her belt. Her hair now rests a few inches above her shoulders and she has bangs. The most shocking change for Adora, though, is all the scars Catra's accumulated. Thick silver lines cutting through her tan skin on her legs, arms, torso, and face. One cuts across her calf like lightning. Another wraps around her arm like a vine.

"I see you finally got rid of that jacket," is all Catra says to begin with.

"Thanks for noticing," Adora answers carefully. The room is much colder than the desert, and Adora's sweat now makes her shiver. Maybe it's just the whole situation.

"No sword either," Catra notes, starting to walk towards Adora. 

Adora feels like she can't breath, but she still says, "We got rid of it. It's the key to the planet and there's no point in risking Hordak using it."

"Fun. Let me guess, threw it in the ocean?"

Catra's so close to Adora now that Adora can almost believe she can hear her heart beating, "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Just a guess," she tells Adora, "Didn't assume it to be too troublesome."

Adora can count the freckles on Catra's face.

"Do you have any water?" she manages to ask. Adora feels like she's going to die. Catra, who on many occasions has nearly killed her, is now the one with control of her.

"In a desert?" Catra feigns surprise, placing a hand on her cheek to escalate the effect before quickly dropping the charade.

"Yeah."

Adora's heart leaps into her throat as Catra leaves her field of vision and walks behind her. Her eyes tear up without her permission as she hears Catra's claws unsheathe with a _shink_. This isn't how Adora wants to die. Alone, in the desert at the hands of her ex-best-friend. Without a fight. Without Glimmer or Bow having any clue what happened to her. Without figuring out what to do now that the sword's gone. Of course it's been gone for years, but Adora still hadn't figured out what to do with herself.

Instead of her throat being slit open her binds fall.

"You're not going out that easily," Catra says with a monotone voice that raises more questions than answers.

Adora goes to stand up on her own, but instead claws sink into her shoulders and yank her to her feet.

"Just because I'm helping you doesn't mean all is forgiven," she growls in Adora's ear. She doesn't need to tell Adora. The blonde holds her own resentment.

Her claws retract and warm blood flows from new punctures in Adora's shoulders, staining her tank top scarlet.

Now that they're standing face to face, Adora realizes that she's a good four inches taller than Catra. That doesn't make the catgirl any less threatening. Catra's look makes up for her height tenfold in terms of intimidation.

"Now, let's get some water," she hisses, hitting the door to make it open into the blinding sunlight.


	2. Old Wounds and Fresh Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad habits die hard

Catra moves stiffly, posture erect and ears flattened. Adora walks next to her, face red, eyes glazed, and shoulders raw. Part of Catra gleans satisfaction from this. Adora decides to crawl back into her life after all these years, she may as well take the toll. Another part of Catra, however, feels guilty. Adora is battered and broken and Catra has done nothing to help.

 _Why should I?_ her consciousness hisses back, _She left me and fought me and fucked me up._

Catra didn't exactly need the reminder, as her skin shimmers silver where Adora's- no, _She-Ra's-_ sword has caught her. Thick silver lines that criss-cross her body almost like a permenant reminder for all the times they've clashed.

The scars have faded after the years, but Catra's made up for them. The Crimson Waste may very well be classified as her own sandbox, but rival gangs have made their fair share of attempts on her life. The wildlife has done its best to kill her. She still has a scar from the first time she went out alone and a poisonous vine wrapped itself around her leg.

"Hey, Catra?" Adora asks, interrupting Catra from her thoughts. She turns to Catra, her icy blue eyes standing out in the gloom of the setting sun. The rest of the desert is the color of blood, deep and rich and red, but Adora's eyes are still a hopeful blue. Catra also notices the dark rings that lie beneath them.

"Catra?" she repeats, brows furrowing in confusion. Adora stops to fully confront Catra, but Catra just turns to look at the ground in front of her.

"What?" she growls at the dark sand to thoroughly avoid Adora's gaze.

"Where are we going?" Adora questions through gritted teeth.

"Water," Catra answers before continuing their march forward.

The ground slopes heavily upwards, and Catra can hear Adora's breathing turn heavy. Catra wants to shove Adora down the dune thanks to resentment that's lingered for years. Catra feels concern for Adora thanks to the years they grew up together.

As a compromise, Catra takes Adora's hand with unsheathed claws. She laces her fingers through Adora's, and Adora says nothing. She doesn't even nod in acknowledgement.

Adora's fingers are rough, strong, and calloused. Catra ponders if Adora's still been practicing her swordsmanship.

Catra's claws haven't caught any of Adora's skin. That is, until Adora's foot falls through a snake hole.

Adora jerks back, curses loudly, and stumbles sideways. Catra's claws tears at the back of Adora's hand, but Adora still says nothing. She firmly plants her foot into the sand before slowly taking the other out of the hole. Adora succeeds, and tentatively places her freed foot on the other side of the hole before continuing up the dune.

Despite Adora being battered and dehydrated, she still is strong as hell. She basically drags Catra to the top of the dune, which is illuminated with a few sparse lanterns hanging from assorted ribs rising out of the sand. Catra notices Adora still hangs onto her hand, sticky and bloodied, despite the fact that she seems strong enough to handle herself. Or at least she did. 

Adora doubles over panting, squeezing Catra's hand to the point that Catra feels like Adora's trying to remove her fingers.

"Let's not do that again," Catra comments, trying to ignore the wet, sticky mixture of blood and sweat shared between their hands.

Adora just glares at Catra before shakily standing up straight again.

"Oh... Thank god..." she wheezes, looking at the bar, her face red in the warm lighting.

"This is where I was supposed to go," Adora continues.

Had Catra not known about the sword being gone, she would've thrown Adora down the dune. But something inside her has subsided. Catra won't hesitate to fight Adora, but she doesn't feel the temptation to kill her in cold blood. Of course, she never really did. It was always _She-Ra_ Catra wanted to put an end to. And if it came at the cost of her childhood friend...

Adora jolts her from her thoughts, first tugging her hand forward before dropping it.

"Can't ruin your reputation, can I," she remarks bitterly before snatching out a surprisingly large hunting knife that Catra had yet to notice.

Adora must have been practicing with knives as well, because in one swift motion she slices a near-straight line at the bottom of her tank top, and in two more she removes a strip of fabric to wrap around her hand. 

The makeshift bandage quickly soaks through, but Adora doesn't seem bothered.

Instead she glares at Catra before evenly stating, "You're paying."

Adora attempts to walk in before her, but Catra quickly interjects, "You might not want to do that."

She attempts to come off as aloof and uncaring, leaning against an enormous rib and examining her now bloodstained claws.

"Why?" Adora counters through gritted teeth, halting her step.

"You see," Catra starts, still averting Adora's gaze, "I have a bit of a reputation around here. It comes with my _lovely_ job of being a gang leader. You do as well, surprisingly."

Adora tugs on the cloth wound around her wound in frustration before muttering angrily, "Get to the point already."

Catra feigns being insulted before flatly saying, "Not everyone around here was fond of your trio's shenanigans. You _do_ remember the entirety of the Crimson Waste had a party after your capture?"

"Yeah, yeah," Adora growls before walking back to Catra's side.

"I swear to god, though," she continues, "if you try to pull any shit I won't hesitate to kill you, Catra."

This strikes Catra a little harder than it should, given that but a few years ago all they ever did was try to kill each other. Given that Catra is still debating on whether or not to- well, not _kill,_ more like _gravely injure_ \- Adora. But it hurts, nonetheless.

"Ha, great to see not much has changed," Catra remarks in an irritated tone accompanied by a shit-eating grin, "But if you're not too busy threatening me, you might want to drink something before dying of dehydration."

Adora says nothing, but glares Catra down. Her icy eyes look out of place in the desert, but they still stare Catra down regardless.

And she hates it. An idea blooms in Catra's head, but she hesitates.

It's cruel, even for her. But it's easy enough to explain away. And tempting. _Oh so_ tempting.

"One last thing before we go in," she starts hesitantly. If she wants to sell it, she needs to sound confident. She needs to make it sound like the only option.

Catra nonchalantly as she can struts up to Adora. She gently places her hand against Adora's face. Adora's glare softens, and she instinctively leans into Catra's touch. Now Catra can see how tired and vulnerable Adora is. But a flame still burns inside of her. Consuming her in her own bitterness.

She hesitates for one second. Two. Adora still is frozen, her eyes soft and blue and tired. Catra can almost imagine that they're back in the Fright Zone and late for practice. But it's not enough to satisfy her. She unsheathes her claws and digs them into Adora's cheek in a swift motion. It's done less than a second, but Catra's heart pounds in her throat.

Adora's gaze swiftly changes from vulnerable to shocked. Betrayed. Blood flows free and scarlet from three slashes in her left cheek. Her tank top is now completely crimson on her left side. She doesn't even attempt to staunch the heavy, heavy flow.

Before Adora can bring herself to speak, Catra forces herself to say, "Can't have it looking like I let you off easy."

This snaps Adora out of it. Her eyes turn to slits and she punches Catra in the jaw.

Catra's vision swims, yellow spots dancing in her eyes. She stumbles to one of the bones rising from the sand, clinging to it because she's sure if she doesn't she'll collapse.

Now Adora's hand is on her cheek, though it doesn't help much. Blood still flowing out from between her fingers, dripping onto her skin like scarlet freckles. Onto the dry sand like rain drops.

"Now we're even," Adora manages to say with an unwavering voice. To Catra she sounds like she's underwater. Everything is muffled. Catra wonders if even in her weakened state if that was as hard as Adora can punch. Adora's looks just as muscular as She-Ra did, if not even more defined.

Catra knows that after all of Adora's training that if she really wanted to knock Catra out she would've. _Especially_ with that punch.

So Catra lets go of the fossil supporting her and stands on her own feet. The world spins around her, the moons looking like they'll fly out of orbit, but she still makes herself look at Adora.

They mirror each other, both clutching their jaws, both glaring at each other. _Was it worth it?_ part of Catra asks. She doesn't answer.

"Let's go," Adora says emptily, grabbing the collar of Catra's jacket to push her forward.

Catra almost falls onto her face, which wouldn't have been the best circumstance, but she catches herself tripping forward.

They walk together through the short pathway to the rickety entrance. Two worn wooden café doors greet them at the opening of the saloon, and Catra manages to open them without blacking out.

It's relatively empty tonight, with only a few patrons present. Catra quickly spots Huntara in the far corner.

"Talk to her and I'll get the drinks," Catra whispers to Adora, who just glares at Catra and nods before turning to the wall of green fabric. It still amazes her that an enormous tarp that covers the even larger skeleton of a long gone beast composes the saloon's foundation.

Catra continues to the wooden counter before sitting down. Her head pounds and it's all she can do not to pass out. Though she's not sure what hurt her more; Adora's right-hook or her own actions.

"How much for a gallon of water?" she asks, opening her jacket to reach for the credits she has on her.

"50 credits," the horned barmaid answers, putting her long mane of pomegranate up in a ponytail.

"Alright," Catra whips out two large coins silver coins from her pocket to place on the dark counter.

The woman places the jug of water on the counter, Catra nods thanks, and then quickly adds, "Oh, and could we get some ice?"

She sighs and shovels some ice out of a bucket behind the counter into a bag.

"How much?" Catra asks despite her head splitting.

"On the house, Boss," she answers, sliding the ice across the counter to Catra.

"Thanks," Catra pauses to look at her name tag, though her vision still swims, "Rosaline."

"Damn, did you forget my name?" she jokes, wiping out a mug.

"No, I just-" Catra cuts herself off to gesture to her jaw, which she assumes is visibly bruised by now.

Rosaline laughs, "Never can seem to stay out of trouble, can you?"

"No," Catra feebly smiles, placing the icepack on her jaw and sighing in relief.

"Speaking of trouble, who's that newcomer over there?" Rosaline asks, pausing to point at Adora, "She seems to have gotten on your bad side, with the fresh claw marks and all. She's familiar, too."

"Oh, that's Adora," Catra says, her head to sore to come up with another name or lie.

Rosaline snaps her fingers, "Adora, that's it! Huntara's always mentioning her. Oh shit, wasn't she She-Ra too?"

"Yeah, was," Catra answers, her blood turning to fire, "Her sword's gone now, so she's just good ol' Adora."

"Well, I'm not well educated on First Ones and whatnot, so I'll drop the conversation there," Rosaline remarks, "See you around, Boss."

"Have a good night, Rosaline," Catra says, grabbing the jug of water before shakily strolling across the dusty floor to where Adora and Huntara are.

"Here's your water," she tells Adora, setting the jug down on the table.

Adora doesn't look at Catra, and instead takes the cap off and downs a decent portion of the water.

"Hey, kitty kitty," Huntara says in greeting. Sure, Catra kicked her out of the Crimson Waste and stole a few of her gang, but that lasted about a week before she returned. She's _Huntara,_ and there's nothing Catra can do about that. So they became hesitant allies, meeting up once a month in the saloon to discuss whatever bullshit's been going on in their desert.

Huntara hands Adora a tablet before kicking her feet up on the table and taking a sip of her whiskey.

Adora looks infinitely better already, which is surprising since the sword's gone and she possess no magic. At least, that's what Catra assumes. She can't really think at the moment.

"Adora!" sounds off loudly from the tablet and Catra flinches, which is _not_ good for her headache. It also doesn't help that it's Glitter and Arrow.

"Glimmer! Bow!" Adora answers with slightly less enthusiasm thanks to her subpar state.

"What the hell happened to you?" Glimmer yells, "You don't answer your tracking pad, you call _hours_ later off of Huntara's from the saloon, and you're gushing blood!"

"Long story," Adora sighs, placing the tablet on her legs so she can get out her knife again. She begins to swiftly cut off more of her shirt for the deep cuts in her cheek.

"Ok. Ok," Bow says, panic becoming apparent in his voice, "Can you at least tell us you have an answer to the question you went to get answered."

"Yes, Bow," Adora answers, a small smile spreading across her lips as she finishes slicing off the square of fabric, "The Crimson Waste is just as it always has been: dangerous, gang-infested, and in good hands."

The last part of Adora's report surprises Catra a little, but she's sure that she's referring to Huntara.

"Guys," Adora starts off, smile quickly dropping from her lips, "I've got some stuff to figure out though. It's nothing important, but I don't think I can come back to Brightmoon yet."

It's dead silent for a few seconds, and Catra can hear her head pounding.

Then Glimmer cuts the quiet, "Ok, Adora. Just be safe."

"Good luck!" Bow chirps in, and then the video conference ends. Adora hands the tablet back to Huntara, and places the white square of fabric on her cheek.

She turns to Catra, then turns back to her water. She takes another large swig of it, carefully wiping off whatever spills onto her lips.

"Catra," she begins, "If you _ever_ touch me again, I'll _fucking_ kill you."

"No problem, why would I?" she hisses back, knowing damn well why, "Why did you decide to stick around here anyways?"

"It's none of your goddamn business!" Adora retorts, grabbing the collar of Catra's jacket and lifting her out of her seat, "Meet me here at two tomorrow, no questions."

She then throws Catra back into her chair, making her nearly black out in pain. Adora doesn't look much better, with gaping scarlet scratches marring her face.

Catra grabs her icepack again, the corner of her eyes dimming into black, "Fine, but where are you going to stay until then? Or for that matter the rest of your stay? There isn't any hotels around here."

"You can stay at my place," Huntara suggests, taking another sip of her whiskey.

"Perfect," Adora sighs, before looking back to Catra, "No games."

"No games."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Find me on Tumblr @catheriaa


	3. Loneliness is Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora's not having a good time.

Adora's glad that, of all people, she has Huntara leading her to where she'll be spending the night. 

_Or the foreseeable future_ , Adora's subconscious whispers.

Adora's felt, well, _incomplete_ since she lost her sword. Sure, she'd felt incomplete ever since she left the Horde. And the sword had happened to be First One's tech designed to control the She-Ra and use her as an outlet for a superweapon at the center of the planet that siphons its power from elemental princesses. Adora had learned this from Entrapta half a year after the Horde, without its crucial force captain at the forefront of the war, had lost.

Entrapta hadn't exactly been taken as prisoner, but she hadn't exactly been free either. Guards had followed her around for about a week before they decided that it wasn't even worth it. She'd unexpectedly broken into Adora's room one night and proceeded to explain all of this to Adora at roughly three in the morning before informing Adora that she'd be on the roof taking notes on Etheria's moons if Adora needed her.

It had taken Adora a few days to fully take in what Entrapta had told her, and after it set in she stopped seeing Light Hope. Of course, without the sword Light Hope had seldom accepted Adora's presence anyways. Adora could say "Eternia" until her voice failed her and the Crystal Castle still wouldn't open some days.

Without the sword-without _She-Ra_ \- Adora felt more and more like dead weight to the Rebellion. Yeah, Adora was strong and had a lifetime of training beneath her belt, but she could never hold the power to completely alter the battlefield again. She was no Glimmer or Mermista or Perfuma. Adora had no real power without the sword as far as she knew, and she could never make up the ghost of a loss the Rebellion had suffered. Even though the Rebellion defeated the Horde within a month or so after Catra had defected. The combined lack of sword and what to do with herself had driven Adora nearly insane. 

Bow and Glimmer had both tried to help her in their own ways. Bow had been somewhat of a therapist to Adora, making sure she remembered to eat and always asking her how she felt. Meanwhile, Glimmer had focused on Adora's restlessness. On Adora's sense of powerlessness. She'd given Adora a new sword roughly the same size, weight, balance, and class as the old one.

_Even without being She-Ra, you've inflicted some major damage with a sword,_ she'd told Adora, _Maybe stick with what you're experienced with._

Adora had felt like a wolf in sheep's skin.

_It's not being She-Ra that made me skilled in combat!_ part of her screamed. The Horde's training, _especially_ concerning cadets, was grueling. Hours and hours of being pit against each other in a small simulation room with limited water. Even after spending a year in Brightmoon and close to Glimmer and Bow, there was a lot she hadn't even thought to tell them.

Adora's certain that they noticed, but didn't say anything out of respect for her. They knew _enough_ about Adora's childhood, about Shadow Weaver and Hordak and... and _Catra_. That it was painful enough for Adora to grow up in a toxic environment and they didn't need-or potentially _want-_ to know the details.

"So," Huntara starts, interrupting Adora's relentless thoughts, "You and Catgirl-"

"What?" she cuts Huntara off in disbelief, hand floating back to the fresh scratches on her cheek.

"You know," Huntara makes a vague gesture with the hand not holding her staff.

"No, I _don't_ ," Adora says through gritted teeth. She feels her cheek begin to bleed again.

"Well, the two of you undeniably have a history of _something_ ," Huntara comments, kicking a pebble into the vat of quicksand in front of them.

"Grew up together," Adora chokes out, tugging on the bandage on her hand yet again. Her statement doesn't seem to capture all those years it was her and Catra against the world. Maybe her bitterness has diluted her past fondness.

"Horde?"

Adora just nods, keeping her eyes to the ground at her feet.

"Didn't end well, I take it?"

"I defected. She didn't want to come with," Adora almost adds _no mater how many times I begged her to._

"That's... tough. It's never easy to defect, you know? Leaving everything you've ever known."

Adora knows-or _assumes_ , since Huntara's been in contact with Catra- that Huntara doesn't know the details of their falling-out, but it strikes a nerve with her.

"I know _firsthand!_ " she snaps, and she can feel the flow of blood on her cheek becoming heavier. Adora's lightheaded, but it doesn't make a difference to her anger. Not necessarily at Huntara, but at every thing she's been through.

Adora's lived through the trials of growing up in the Horde and defecting, of having destiny and "greatness" thrust upon her shoulders without her consent, of never quite managing to live up to, well, nearly _everyone's_ expectations.

Adora's tried and tried, given it everything that she's capable of, and where has it left her? Broken and battered, inside and out, with scars tracing her skin and a hole in her heart she can't seem to fill.

Adora's angry and bitter but at who? The First Ones who created the sword? Hordak and Shadow Weaver? She knows she holds quite the grudge against Catra, but she's definitely not alone in Adora's harsher thoughts.

Adora knows she's furious at herself as well. She can never do anything well enough or fast enough. She let the Horde manipulate her for seventeen years before she realized what they were doing was wrong. It's not like they even tried to hide it. Shadow Weaver had strangled Catra time and time again in front of Adora's eyes, but it _still_ hadn't clicked.

Adora doesn't realize that she's been gritting her teeth or that Huntara's been talking until she catches the inside of her cheek. Which, unfortunately, happens to be the same cheek that Catra maimed earlier.

She can feel the thin crust of healing that's occurred break, along with the immediate rush of blood that follows. Adora stumbles, momentarily clutching a nearby ridge for support before forcing herself to stand up again.

"Whoa there, princess," Huntara says, before intervening with whatever Adora's plan was. Adora doesn't even know if she had a plan. All she can think about now is how bad of a headache she has.

Huntara drapes one of Adora's arms over her shoulders, which is a little challenging considering their height difference, but Huntara manages.

"You're lucky that we're nearly to my place," she comments before basically dragging Adora to the edge of a cliff.

Adora wishes her brain wasn't so muddled, because there's a lot to take in. An entire small town is built into the cliff-side, with rickety bridges connecting the two sides of the canyon.

Huntara proceeds to drape Adora over her shoulder before climbing down a ladder to reach on of the bridges. The ladder consists of rope and wood. The ladder also isn't connected to the cliff, and swings wildly during their descent.

Adora is struck by nausea before blacking out. Which infuriates her as the corners of her vision dim. Her last thought is of how much she _hates_ being helpless.

* * *

Adora resurfaces into consciousness as Huntara places her on the ground, presumably to grab her keys. Adora tries to take in the environment, but her brain is still on the fritz and her eyes won't focus. Her back is leaned against a small wooden building, and she looks out to the canyon. Adora's glad its dark, because if she were exposed to the harsh desert sun she's certain that she'd blackout again.

All Adora can do is slowly remove what remains of her tank top to press against her cheek in attempt to staunch the flow of blood from her cheek.

Tears brim in her eyes from the pain, but she forces herself to blink them away. Huntara was kind enough to let her crash at her place for a while, and Adora doesn't want to be a burden. Well, anymore of a burden than she's already been, having blacked out and been partially carried halfway of the trek to Huntara's place.

A sliver of golden light cuts through the otherwise pitch black desert and alerts her that Huntara's coming back outside. Adora hadn't even noticed that Huntara had unlocked her door.

The buff woman offers her hand, and Adora gratefully and wordlessly takes it.

Huntara effortlessly lifts Adora to her feet before guiding her inside.

It's not at all what Adora was expecting. The place is nice and quaint, lit solely by a few lanterns littered throughout the building. To Adora's right is a combination of a kitchen and dining room, with a counter jutting out from the wall in front of the stove and a wine rack hung from the wall. To Adora's right is a couch in front of a fire place with a coffee table between the two, which is littered with mugs and weapons alike. Directly in front of Adora is a narrow hallway with a door on each side and one at the end of the hallway.

"Hey, uh, do you have anything for a headache?" Adora manages to fumble out, pressing her tank top against her scratches a little more firmly.

"Yeah, the door at the end of the hallway is the bathroom. There should be something beneath the sink, and there should be some bandages for your cuts, too," Huntara answers before turning towards the kitchen.

Adora stumbles her way to the bathroom and closes the door behind her. Her body feels clunky and _wrong._

_Maybe it's the blood loss speaking,_ her mind offers. But ever since she lost the sword, and along with it She-Ra, her body hasn't quite felt like her own.

Adora tries to dismiss her thoughts, and squats down to open the cabinet beneath the sink. Just as Huntara described, there's a bottle of painkillers and a set of bandages sloppily stacked on the bottom of the cabinet.

Adora grabs both and shakily places them on top of the sink before turning on the water.

She hesitantly drops what remains of her tank top to the floor before rinsing her hands. She then pops open the top of the painkiller bottle and places two in her mouth, quickly cupping her hands beneath the water and downing the pills.

Adora tries to rinse her cuts clean beneath the flowing water and tears up in pain. She can see the red swirl down the drain and she can feel the sting of the water against her cheek.

And she can't help it, but she thinks back to her childhood in the Horde.

_Lonnie was messing around with one of the staffs that their teacher had used in their presentation and smacked Adora in the face on accident. This had caused the skin above her eyebrow to split open and start bleeding heavily all over her notes._

_She'd ran to the bathroom in panic without looking back despite the calls of her teacher, classmates, and Catra. She'd cried in the bathroom, frantically pressing paper towels against the cut until she'd heard the door open._

_Instead of her teacher, Catra stood in front of her, eight years old and lifting up the veil of paper towels in front of Adora's eyes._

_"Hey, Adora?" she'd asked, worry in her voice and concern in her eyes._

_In response Adora had started crying again and Catra lifted the paper towels off of the cut._

_"How bad is it?" Adora sniveled._

_Catra laughed in return._

_"Shut up!" Adora thew back, with a grin tempting the corner of her lips._

_"It's nothing, Adora!"_

_"You think they're gonna tease me?" she'd asked, snatching the paper towels back from Catra._

_"Pfft, no! They'll probably think you're cool or whatever! They'll be like 'Oh, Adora! You're eight and have a super cool battle scar, how do you do it?'" Catra offered, clearly mimicking Kyle._

_"Thanks."_

_"For what, stating the obvious?" Catra answered, rolling her eyes._

_"Come on, lets get back to class before Shadow Weaver finds out."_

But now Adora didn't have Catra in any way that mattered, and she was alone. Bleeding in a bathroom at two in the morning with the door shut.

Adora shuts off the water, tentatively dries off her cheek, and places a square of gauze against the claw marks. 

She puts the supplies back, leans against the wall, and slides to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees.

She tries not to be loud, because she can feel her nose start to burn and her eyes starting to water.

Adora doesn't know, and maybe she doesn't _want_ to know, exactly why she starts crying, but it doesn't stop. Her tears burn her cheeks, her throat closes on itself, and her nose runs. She's glad that Huntara doesn't walk in on her like this, even though Adora doesn't even know what _this_ is.

Adora feels a lot of things. Adora feels tired and helpless and angry. Adora feels alone. And that's how she falls asleep, cramped up and crying in Huntara's bathroom. Alone.


	4. Making the Same Mistake Thinking of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora gets a wardrobe change and Catra goes through it a little more than usual.

Adora slowly wakes up where she fell asleep. Light filters in through the small window near the ceiling to Adora's left.

The first thing she notices is how stiff she is from falling asleep while hugging her knees on the ground. She has a ginormous crick in her neck, and she awkwardly moves her hand to rub it.

The second thing she notices, thanks to her movement, is how her dried tears have made her face sticky and her skin feel tight.

Adora groans and gets to her feat, still having not recovered from the emotional strain the past 24 hours or so has taken on her. She looks in the small mirror above the porcelain sink to see that the scratches that Catra gave her...

"They're _gone_?" she gasps quietly, her hand slowly finding the skin smooth other than where the scar tissue amasses. The marks are eye-catching. Glaringly visible.

Adora can't seem to look away from them. She can't seem to stop tracing her fingers over the rigid scars.

Adora sighs, because she doesn't know how to feel. She's relieved, since she doesn't have to worry about infection or blood loss anymore. She's frustrated, because the marks glare back at her from the mirror, permanent. She's confused because... _because they're healed_.

"How?" Adora asks to her reflection. Her is still hazy from the blood loss and the crying and the lack of sleep, but she tries to piece together an explanation.

"Unless... Unless _she's_ back?"

Adora finally looks herself in the eye in the mirror.

"Why?" Adora whispers to her reflection, only for her eyes to flash a supernatural blue in response.

Adora stumbles back in surprise, tripping over the rug on the floor and almost tumbling into the wall before she manages to catch herself.

Adora slowly walks forward to grab the sink, turning on the water and splashing it in her face to gain some clarity.

She looks at her overall appearance in the mirror, and she's never felt less in control of herself in her lifetime of being used as a tool in war.

She starts to unravel the bun she hastily slammed her braid into yesterday, flinching at the strands caught in her hair tie. In a few seconds her braid lies over her shoulder and stops at the middle of her bicep. Loose strands of hair float around her face and protrude from her scraggly braid.

It still doesn't feel right to Adora.

She wrangles the second hair tie loose, running her fingers through her wheat colored hair until the braid is completely undone.

Now her hair lies wavy and to her elbows.

 _Still not_ _right,_ Adora thinks.

She sighs, noticing dark bags beneath her eyes from years of lack of sleep. The faint freckles from wandering around the Bright Moon gardens.

Her gaze moves down to her... "outfit."

She's clad with nothing more than a sports bra and the shredded remains of her pants.

Hesitantly, she cracks open the bathroom door.

"Huntara?" she calls.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have any spare clothes... or a pair of scissors?" Adora asks, peaking her head out from behind the door to look down the short hallway.

"Nothing that would fit you, but I do have a pair of scissors," Huntara answers.

Adora can hear Huntara dig through a drawer before slamming it shut and starting down the hallway.

Adora slowly returns to the mirror, this time taking in how grimy her appearance is. Dried blood still coats her skin, along with a layer of dirt.

Again, Adora splashes her face with water, feeling it drip coolly down her neck and cutting through the layer of grime. She rinses off her arms, rubbing the bar of soap down them slow and deliberately to feel in control of _something_.

The door creaks open and Adora brushes a piece of her wet hair behind her ear.

"Uh, thank you?" Adora says, trying to be polite but failing miserably.

"No problem, Blondie," Huntara answers, firmly placing the pair of scissors in Adora's hand before leaving Adora alone to the bathroom again.

Adora wets her hair before parting it with as little effort as possible. She grabs the scissors off of the sink and looks at herself in the mirror.

"I'm in control," she says, taking a snip of her hair.

"I'm in control," she repeats taking another snip, this one much closer to her scalp and much more confident.

"I'm in control," Adora whispers, tears welling in her eyes but her hands becoming less shaky.

She repeats her mantra until one side of her hair is trimmed down to her scalp and a pile of blonde strands lies on the ground.

"Halfway done," Adora smiles as hot tears run down her face.

She mirrors her previous actions on the other half of her head until they're near identical.

Adora looks at herself in the mirror and grins, broken.

She grabs the rest of her hair in one hand and cuts it off at the shoulder with the other.

Adora stands in Huntara's bathroom, teary-eyed and sore and confused, but far from giving up.

* * *

Catra's eyes snap open at the sound of the ship's door slamming shut.

She sits bolt upright from her small pile of blankets, instinctively reaching for her whip.

"Who's there?" she hisses, patting the wall for something to get a hold of.

Silence.

"I said _who's there_?" she yells, unsheathing her claws and rising to her feet.

Footsteps.

Catra growls, but doesn't say anything. She knows better than to do that after all these years.

In the dark, she slinks to beside the door frame, readying her whip.

 _I hope it's not Adora,_ Catra thinks without her own consent.

Catra _knows_ that Adora wouldn't kill her. She doesn't know how she knows, but she does.

After last night though... she has her concerns.

 _Shut up,_ she growls at her conscious, _You rule the Crimson Waste. You don't need to worry about..._ her.

Some part of her, however, says, _Yes, you_ do _need to worry about Adora._

Catra presses herself against the wall to distract herself from her...

"Guilt?" she asks out loud.

The footsteps quicken in her direction and she curses herself internally.

Catra digs her claws into the wall anxiously, waiting to face whoever is in the ship. Whoever wants to hurt her.

 _How much longer can you do this, Kitten?_ Double Trouble's voice rings in her head.

 _If you ever touch me again, I'll fucking kill you!_ Adora yells in her mind.

Catra's breathing becomes quicker and labored.

 _You don't hate_ Adora, _do you?_ Scorpia asks quietly.

" _Shut up!_ " Catra shrieks, covering her own ears and sinking to the floor.

" _Over here!_ " Catra hears Kyle yell, sounding like she's submerged beneath water.

" _I knew she slept here, it's just easier to tell when the lights are on_."

She sees two figures enter the room, slipping past her. Kyle and her lizard girlfriend.

Catra, luckily, can see just fine in the dark. But that doesn't help her when she's just woken up. When she's in the middle of a panic attack.

When she's cornered herself without even thinking about it.

She sees Kyle smile before she smacks her in the temple with a metal pipe.

Catra's vision doubles like it did when Adora punched her yesterday.

_Adora..._

_Do you really hate her?_ Huntara inquires sincerely in her mind.

"No."

Kyle hits her over the head again with the metal pipe, and Catra feels blood run down her face before she feels nothing at all.

* * *

Adora stands among a sea of market-goers as she makes her way to the saloon on the outskirts of town. Huntara gave her a few coins to buy new clothes with, thanks to her old ones being decimated and Adora carrying no cash since she didn't plan for a stay.

She dons a new white shirt, which is loose and sleeveless and silky and ends a few inches above her navel, and a pair of shorts adorn with enough pockets to carry all of Adora's knives at Bright Moon.

Adora is still disoriented, but she feels better after cutting her hair. More in control.

Adora is a little out of it, but she's out of it for _Adora._ She's sure that to most other Etherians that this is the normal amount of awareness. She can still pick out suspicious characters and potential threats in the crowd, she can gauge the general energy of the setting, but she still feels... stifled?

She just doesn't feel quite right.

Adora can see the tavern in the distance, and is about to leave the market before she senses something is... well... _wrong_.

She glances around the moving landscape before catching someone familiar.

Lilith.

The goat-woman and her lizard friend stick to the outskirts of the streets, and Lilith has someone slung over her shoulder.

Adora can't make out details, as the figure is hidden in a gray cloak, but she tries to move as nonchalantly as she can towards the two.

The crowd parts around Adora like a stream around a troublesome rock, but she continues towards the corner where the two have come to a strange halt.

Adora presses herself against the wall of a building across the street from them, and tries to listen in on what they're saying. That is, until Adora catches sight of a tail limply hanging from the cloak.

Her breath hitches in her throat, and her hands wander to the side of her face. After last night... after the _war._.. Adora _wants_ to let Catra deal with whatever one of her mistakes has finally caught up with her. Adora _wants_ to leave Catra to her own devices.

But some part of Adora desperately wants Catra to be okay. And she knows that if she leaves Catra alone in the Crimson Waste that there's no chance she will be.

Adora sighs and goes to run her fingers through the side of her hair only to touch the small layer of fuzz remaining. She tries again, running her hand through the top of her hair instead and indeed hitting what remains of her hair.

Her hands slip down to her shorts, and she slowly snatches her dagger out. Adora holds the dagger close to her chest before taking a deep breath. She runs across the street, full out _sprinting_ before slamming the lizard-lady into the wall.

She bars her arm against her chest and hold the dagger less than an inch from her throat.

"Let the cat go or else the lizard gets it, _Lilith,_ " Adora growls, adding the name to make the situation a little more personal.

"How about _no_?" she returns, not even looking phased by Adora's little stunt.

Adora's blood boils with her frustration from the past few years. From dealing with the aftermath of a war. From losing She-Ra. From feeling useless. From still wanting Catra to come back, even after all these years.

The sun seems to get brighter, the lizard-woman seems to get smaller, and Adora shoves her into the wall harder. The stucco building cracks from how firmly Adora shoves her into it, and Lilith looks down-right terrified, mouth agape and eyes wide with fear.

"Give me the cat," Adora presses, moving her dagger closer to the lizard-woman's throat.

Goat-Kyle drops Catra and sprints away in the opposite direction as Adora, who lurches forward to catch Catra.

Adora doesn't even notice the lizard-woman leave, but she does notice what falls out of Catra's jacket as Adora holds her.

A photograph of both Catra and Adora as Horde cadets, young and happy with their arms draped over each other's shoulders. Adora's missing her front two teeth and Catra refused to comb her hair for a year around the time the photo was taken, but Catra had it on her, nonetheless.

Adora looks at Catra now, scarred and bleeding in the dusty street, she can't help but think about their past. Yet again, Adora's hand finds its way to the scars Catra gave her last night. They've healed over, but they're not going away.

And maybe that's how her and Catra's relationship will be. The bad won't go away, but it'll heal. At least, that's what Adora hopes.

Adora is still angry and bitter and less than willing to forgive Catra, but there's something about seeing her unconscious in her arms that makes Adora _want_ to forgive her.

Maybe it's because she's wearing the same jacket as she did when she let Adora go. Maybe it's because it reminds her of when they were just kids in the Horde together, with nobody taking care of them but each other. Maybe-

"Adora?" Catra coughs out incredulously.

"Catra," Adora answers, taking her thumb and gently wiping away some of the blood that stains the side of Catra's face.

"Nice mullet," Catra comments, and something in Adora _shatters_.

Adora wraps Catra in her arms, and shoves her face into her shoulder with her eyes stinging with tears.

Catra stiffens, and Adora waits for her to tell Adora to fuck off.

But she doesn't. All Catra says is, "Maybe we should save this for somewhere other then the street."

And for the first time since Adora left Bright Moon, she laughs. Pure and happy and genuine, Adora laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Find me on tumblr @catheriaa


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